


The Concept Of Grace

by demonicweirdo



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angel Garrison, Angel Heirarchy, Angst, F/M, Fallen Angel Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Angst, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Heaven's Civil War, M/M, Tortured Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicweirdo/pseuds/demonicweirdo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a small part of him, tucked away in a self-deprecating corner of his mind, that refused to believe Stiles was anything other than a figment of Derek's imagination.</p><p>Derek dismissed the notion whenever it rose, because his imagination had never been vivid enough to conjure up something as pure and light as an <em>angel</em>. Never vivid enough to conjure up <em>Stiles</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Faithful Concrete As It Breaks Our Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This is... I don't know, kinda a Teen Wolf AU and Supernatural canon-compliant up until season 6. Things you should know: Castiel and Celestiel are brothers. Stiles is Celestiel's nickname. Not everyone had guardian angels, but Derek and Cora did. The civil war in Heaven still happens, but Cas doesn't make a deal with Crowley. And Derek is an omega.  
> Anyway, this was so much fun to write, and I have a [playlist,](http://8tracks.com/popcornsnuffles-814/derek-hale-trusts-no-one) right here, if you wanna check it out

Celestiel was good at fighting. His brother knew this, his brother was the one who asked him to fight for him. Celestiel saw, in this request, a chance to channel the anger and the pain of the last millennia, a chance for vengeance and retribution, a chance for other angels to be free to experience what he had experienced _without_ punishment.

Many of the angels held him in contempt, regarding him as disobedient and untrustworthy as Gadreel, which hurt, being compared to the one who let evil into the Garden and made God leave Heaven in the first place.

Castiel had asked him to fight for redemption, forgiveness, acceptance. Castiel gave him a garrison to command and let them fight.

And that was what Celestiel was doing when everything went hazy. Though, Eiael would've substituted “fighting” for “dying”. He had managed to disarm Virgil, a worthy feat in itself, but the seraph, while equally as powerful as Celestiel, had eons of experience under his belt. He was the one who threw down Azazel from Heaven in the First War.

So Celestiel was in the process of getting his grace torn apart when he felt the resonating presence of his brother. He couldn't acknowledge Castiel and simultaneously shake Virgil off his back (Figuratively. His form didn't physically have a back because it wasn't physical).

But Castiel's grace was calling out to him across the battlefield, reaching out to his whole garrison, who were in a better position to answer their leader than Celestiel was.

And then the force of Castiel's grace was pulling him down, out of Virgil's grasp, further down until he was scrabbling to get back up because it was too much, too forceful, too painful.

Gravity wasn't an issue with angels. It wasn't compulsory to abide by it's laws. But Celestiel felt it now, felt it tug him down while Castiel pushed him out. He felt the emptiness as he left Heaven, he felt the floating, lost feeling of not having a body.

 

* * *

 

Derek was not a religious man.

Any god that let eleven people burn to death in a fire without justice was unjust, unfair, uncaring. And Derek couldn't blame an abstract idea like God, so he reserved his anger for more physical things and avoided deep, philosophical musings.

So he was a little surprised, to say the least, to find an angel on his doorstep.

Derek didn't even live in his family home any more, since the council condemned it. He moved into a loft with a hole in the wall that was probably a metaphor for something in his life if he thought about it (he didn't). So it was pure coincidence that Deaton had requested some of the wolfsbane that was growing in the Hale house ruins. Pure coincidence that while Derek was walking out the door at 5:11pm on a tuesday afternoon, thunder rumbled and lightening struck (though it had been for a week), and a guy was at the door.

This guy was normal-looking. Human-looking. Humanoid. He had tufty brown hair that would've been soft if it weren't drenched in sweat. Pale skin dotted with moles that looked purposefully placed, almost. An upturned nose and long eyelashes, and the guy managed to keep his heavily-lidded eyes open long enough for Derek to notice them burning a deep amber.

The guy wasn't wearing a shirt. Wasn't wearing much else but one of those rags you see Michelangelo paintings wearing, the ones that look like they'd blow away your modesty in a breeze. His torso was made of harsh lines and lithe muscles. Of course, it all would've pleasing to the eye if it weren't for the blood.

The blood oozed from shallow scratches and deep gashes on his chest, though none looked more fatal than the hole in his side, as big as a quarter but deeper than Derek would care to think about.

The guy stumbled on his feet, swaying, struggling to keep his eyes open. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, his long fingers clenching until his knuckles were white and his (blunt, human) nails sunk into the wood.

And then the man -though he could've easily been a boy- looked up, and his amber eyes flashed brighter than Derek's had ever been when he wolfed out, a light blue with white in the middle.

“Der...” he breathed, his voice rough and unused. “Derek. I need... your help.” And then he collapsed.

Derek darted forward and caught the guy, just before his head connected with the floor. His blood was wet on Derek's hands, but Derek ignored it and lifted the guy up. His head lolled down. He was out cold, his breathing shallow, but his heart beating. His skin shouldn't have been as hot as it was. Derek was sure that it was hotter than an average human's, which strengthened, along with the weird eyes, Derek's conviction that the guy was not human.

And then the heart stopped, but the breathing didn't, and Derek didn't know what to think. Hearts were important for life, weren't they? They beat, they pump blood, and once they stop beating, you're dead. And death meant not-breathing.

The heart kicked up again after exactly a minute, in which Derek tried to drag the man further into the house and lie him on his stomach so Derek could inspect the wounds on his back.

Once the thumping started up again, the two gashes on the man's back started healing straight away. They were precise, like someone held him down and surgically cut two diagonal lines, which wasn't a great incentive for keeping Derek's lunch down. And as soon as they started healing, the blood on the guy's back started fading.

Derek was lucky he had adapted the skill of keeping his head cool in situations that should've paralysed him with horror. And surprise. And shock. All of these emotions were spinning around Derek's mind as he was about to flip the guy over and see if the blood and the gashes on his front had cleared.

Next thing he knew, he was tripping over his feet after being whacked in the face by something soft, strong, and black.

Two wings, black, feathered, and larger-than-necessary, had snapped out from the cuts, one hitting Derek back on his ass and one thudding into a wall, quivering for a second before tucking around the body they had spontaneously sprung from.

Derek was getting too cynical for this shit.

 

* * *

 

Scott had stood there, his mouth open and his eyes wide, for a good two minutes, before passing out. Derek thought it was a rather dramatic reaction to the unconscious human-bird hybrid on the sofa.

Jackson had crossed his arms and snorted, muttering something about all this supernatural shit finally breaking his brain.

Isaac had reached out with a shaking hand, and lightly pressed a fingertip to one black wing, curled around the man's side. The wing fluttered subtly, and Isaac gasped and yanked his hand back.

“It feels...” His voice was a raw, choking sound. “It feel amazing.”

“Not when it's hitting you in the face,” Derek commented, narrowing his eyes at the creature in front of him.

Isaac shook his head, but didn't take his eyes off the thing. “What do you... Do you think it's an angel?” he asked, cautiously hopeful.

Jackson huffed. “Yeah, right. Probably just some lab freak, an experiment on the loose. There might be a reward.” He stood up from where he was crouching over Scott, turning back to the dude.

Isaac glared at him. “We're not doing anything until he wakes up.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Well, until Hot Wings over there _does_ wake up, we should-”

“His name is not Hot Wings,” someone interrupted.

The wolves spun around so quickly Derek could feel the collective whiplash. Standing behind them, regarding them with looks of contempt and clarity, were five of the most good-looking people Derek had seen since New York.

The one who spoke, a strawberry blonde girl with green eyes, narrowed her eyes at Jackson, who took a step back.

Derek growled, low in his throat, and Isaac followed suit. “Who are you?”

The dark-skinned one, with enough bulk to be intimidating, stepped forward, holding his hands out placatingly. “We wish you no harm,” he assured in a low, soothing voice.

“Then what are you doing here?” Derek barked out, letting his eyes flash blue. Isaac's growl cut off and his claws lengthened. Jackson hovered protectively over Scott's unconscious body.

The big one nodded towards the winged guy. “We're here for him.”

Derek let his eyes fade back to their usual green and straightened, putting a hand on Isaac's arm to calm him down. “What is he?”

The girl with the dark curls and pale skin looked down at the guy with sad eyes. “He's our commander,” she replied in a quiet voice. She reached down and touched the man's forehead.

At the touch, the guy gasped awake and scrambled up, the cloth around his legs sliding down dangerously, his wings snapping to attention and knocking Jackson over. The girl just stepped to the side and narrowly avoided her “commander's” flailing fist to the face.

The guy's eyes focused, and he took in his audience with pleasant surprise. “Hey, soldiers,” he greeted. “Nice vessels.” His voice was warm, if a little hoarse, and it shook something in Derek that twinged a memory.

The strawberry blonde huffed and put her hands on her hips, staring at the guy with severity. “You should've gotten a vessel,” she scolded.

The man craned his neck over the arm of the sofa and spotted Scott on the floor, as if he had known he was there the whole time. “Yeah, but you know how sentimental I get with my bloodlines. Didn't want to take over the guy's life.”

Derek cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling as though the situation had gotten out of control. But he needed to address the problem of referring to the guy as “Hot Wings” before anything else.

“Who are you?” Derek asked, gruff and what his sister would've called his “grumpy, demanding tone”.

Hot Wings looked up at him, and his eyes brightened, a grin stretching over his face. Derek felt the breath leave him, because it felt so intimate, like this stranger was happy to see him, like this stranger had been waiting for this moment. Like this stranger _knew_ him.

He stood up (the white rag around his waist still preserving his modesty), and swept his hand in the air, bowing his head with a sardonic smirk that told Derek he was fooling around. He straightened and tilted his head to the side. “My name is Celestiel.”

That twinge in Derek twinged louder, if that was a thing. Derek couldn't shake off this feeling, and he couldn't identify it either. It was almost a feeling of _rightness._

“Celestiel,” Derek repeated numbly, trading an unreadable look with Isaac.

“Yes,” Celestiel chirped cheerily, grinning at the group of people behind Derek. “And the lovely angels behind you are Lydia, Jeduthan, Asariel, Balthioul, and Eiael.” His grin disappeared, and he pushed past Derek to the blonde one, his wings hugging his back and brushing the floor.

“Where's Castiel?” Celestiel asked in a low voice, his hands resting on the girl's shoulders.

The girl shrugged, biting her lip. “I remember his presence, and then we were falling.”

“Falling,” he murmured, stepping away. “But we're not... Fallen.”

Derek was lost, and he hated being lost. He wasn't an Alpha but he _was_ in control. It was his house and his pack, and these strangers were intruding. “Can someone please tell me what the _hell_ is going on?”

Celestiel glanced up at him from where he was chewing his nail and gave him a quick smile. “Well, _Hell_ isn't going on. Quite the opposite, actually, Derek Hale.” He strode towards Derek, ignoring how Derek flinched away from his hands as he laid them on Derek's shoulders. The guy must like shoulders. “And may I just say it is _great_ to see you,” he said earnestly.

Derek pulled out of his grip, uncomfortable at the intensity of Celestiel's amber eyes. “What are you? And what are you doing here?”

Celestiel let out a breath and frowned. “Well, I suppose we'll start with the obvious,” he said, snapping his wings. They hit the walls and Celestiel seemed to deflate a bit.

“I am not staying here for this,” the blonde girl muttered.

Celestiel frowned at her. “Stay. That's an order.”

The girl sighed, but didn't argue, instead choosing to lean against the bulky black guy.

Celestiel looked back at Derek, and cleared his throat. “So. Me. And those guys over there, but more importantly, me. I'm an angel. They're angels. I'll save you the existential crisis by confirming that yes, there is a God. And yes, there is a Satan. Heaven and Hell, yadda yadda.”

Derek blinked, trying to take the pause Celestiel took to breathe and process the information he had just been slapped in the face with.

But Celestiel didn't give him enough time. “And guess what? I'm yours. I'm your angel.”

Jackson cut in before Celestiel could continue. “I call bullshit. Angels aren't real.” Scott groaned what Derek assumed was an unconscious agreement.

Celestiel narrowed his eyes at Jackson. “Why would I lie?”

“Prove it,” Isaac demanded, though there was too much curiosity and not enough steel in his voice.

The strawberry blonde girl rolled her eyes, while Celestiel smirked. “Wings not enough for you, _boy_?”

“No,” Derek replied bluntly. “Prove it, or get out of my house.”

Celestiel frowned at Derek, like he was disappointed or something. “Fine.” And then the thunderstorm that had been occurring during the whole exchange boomed louder, and lightning flashed as though it were striking in that very room, and Celestiel's eyes glowed electric blue. His wings unfurled, the lightning casting split-second shadows on the wall behind him. And then the people, the teenagers that had randomly appeared in the living room, spread apart, the lightning casting shadows of non-existent wings behind them, all of their eyes glowing a dimmer blue than Celestiel.

The lightning stopped as fast as it had started, and Celestiel's eyes were dimming back into their amber.

Derek hadn't realised he had wolfed out until his ears twitched at the foreign, high pitched whine in his pointed ears. He shrunk them back to their usual rounded human-shaped ears and searched for his voice.

He didn't know what the appropriate reaction was when you just found out that the burnt out living room of your childhood home was occupied by six angels. But he did a good job of not passing out, or going feral, or running away, or shouting.

Instead, he calmly asked, “You're my angel?” His voice sounded young and timid, and he resolved to deepen it next time he chose to use it.

Celestiel nodded. “Your very own Guardian. Been watching over you since the minute you were born, kid.”

 

* * *

 

Celestiel watched Derek's face shut down, before the dark-haired wolf on the ground woke up. _Scott_ , Celestiel thought excitedly. _I missed this guy_.

Scott blinked awake and let the blonde wolf help him up, looking at the empty couch before spinning around to stare, wide-eyed, at Celestiel.

“You,” he breathed.

Celestiel let out a laugh. “You recognise me, Scott McCall.”

Scott took a step forward. “I thought I dreamed you,” he said, his voice full of awe and disbelief.

Derek growled, low and menacingly, and Celestiel glared at him for ruining the moment between him and Scott.

“You know this... guy?” Derek asked, his tone suggesting the only correct answer is _no_.

Scott didn't take his eyes off Celestiel. “Yeah. He came to me in my dreams. Stiles?”

Celestiel grinned, wider and fuller than he had in a long time. He remembered coming to Scott in a dream, but the ten year-old's slight lisp (which he had obviously grown out of) hadn't been able to pronounce _Celestiel_ . So it was shortened to _Stiles_. He had almost forgotten the human nickname, but he preferred it. It felt like a new start, when Scott called him that. This little boy who didn't know the history behind his name.

“Yeah, buddy,” Stiles replied. He turned to Derek's stony face. “Scotty here helped us.”

“Helped us?” Derek echoed. Stiles could feel the anger resonate from him. This Derek was different. His soul, still recognisable, was brighter than it had ever been. But his wolf was angry, sullen, full of self-deprecation that wasn't there when the man had been a boy.

Stiles wordlessly reached out and pressed two fingers to Derek's temple, and Derek blinked as the memory Stiles had been searching for resurfaced.

 

“ _Did you know that smiling is good for your health?” chirped a gangly kid with a scar on his cheek, to Derek's left._

_Derek just grunted. He couldn't be bothered entertaining little kids, not when he was sitting in the hospital, staring at the blood that had dried in his fingernails, with Paige's last cry echoing through his mind, her last breath still fresh in his memory._

_The boy sat in the seat next to him, his feet swinging and his hands tucked under his thighs. “Every time you lose someone, you adjust. It gets better, and you can deal with it easier with very day that passes. But you never forget.” The kid jumped down just as quick, looking Derek in the eye. “You go on living, one day at a time, until your smile doesn't feel forced. You remember. Reeses?” He held out a peanut butter cup and Derek took it, still turning over what the boy said in his mind, trying to decipher the look he was giving him, as though it was important that Derek knew this, important that Derek was listening._

_The boy gave him a small smile, and Derek thought he saw those brown eyes flash blue, but it must've been the flickering light above them, the reflection._

_Before he could thank the boy, the strange boy who spoke like he was a thousand years old, the strange boy who spoke like he knew grief and loss, he was alone in the corridor, holding a peanut butter cup in his hand and staring at the dried blood in his fingernails._

 

The curly-haired one, Isaac, darted forward in panic, but Derek opened his eyes and choked out an, “I'm fine.”

Stiles stood back and watched him curiously. “I possessed Scott to talk to you. I'm happy you've met again.”

Scott reached out hesitantly, his fingers twitching before they rested on Stiles' shoulder. “You're real,” he said.

Stiles grinned, though it felt forced. He didn't know why. “Yeah. Flesh and blood, a hundred percent.”

“About that,” Lydia spoke up, fixing Stiles with a glare. “ _You_ were meant to take a vessel.”

Stiles sighed and gestured to Scott, who hadn't let go of his shoulder. “I'm not going to take over his body, Lydia.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes, but it was Jeduthan who spoke up. “So instead, you decide to weaken yourself even more, making a body? We're at _war_ , Celestiel. We can't afford to have a weak commander.”

Stiles flopped back on the couch, distractedly aware that they had an audience, but not able to care. “Castiel cast us out of Heaven. The last thing I remember was Virgil ripping me to pieces. It was an impulsive decision, but I'm already strengthening.”

“How long are we expected to stay down here?” Asariel demanded.

Stiles shrugged. “I don't know. I don't know why Castiel cast us out. I'm sure he had his reasons. It's not for us to question them.” Stiles had faith in his brother, it was hard not to. The angel had been resurrected by _God._ That alone should've had Raphael slinking into a dark corner for a few millenia.

Eiael raised an eyebrow. “You're the only one who _can_ question them. You're Castiel's brother, he tells you everything,” she said.

Stiles shook his head. “We'll talk later,” he said, injecting as much authority as he could into his voice. His garrison may have their issues, but they were loyal to a fault. They didn't question orders. Though sometimes Stiles felt like they _should_ , because wasn't that what they were fighting for? Free will, freedom?

Stiles turned back to the wolves, clapping his hands together. “So. Any questions?” He frowned, taking in Derek's sullen and blank face, the undertones of death that lingered in the air, the charred wallpaper and burns on the wooden floor. “What happened here?”

Derek's face darkened into something pained. “A fire,” he replied, as if the words had been pulled out of his mouth against his will.

Stiles didn't ignore the dread spreading through his stomach. “Who?” he asked in a whisper, knowing Derek could hear him.

Derek didn't break eye contact with him. “All but Laura and Peter.”

_Not true,_ Balthioul spoke in his mind. _Cora's alive._ He had been Cora's Guardian before Castiel called them up to fight Raphael, and Stiles could feel the waves of sadness and horror from the angel. He had grown to love the Hale family as much as Stiles.

_I'll tell him at a better time,_ Stiles replied. “How long ago?” he asked out loud to Derek.

“Just after Paige,” Derek replied, his voice hitching almost imperceptibly at the name.

Stiles closed his eyes against the wave of guilt and _failure_ . That was around the time the war started. And Stiles, Celestiel, had jumped at the chance to fight, for revenge and justice, for _himself_. When his ward was back on Earth, losing his family and having no one to help him, to guide him, to Guard him.

_I'm going to find Cora,_ Balthioul told him.

_Okay,_ Stiles assented. Balthioul disappeared, and the three teenage wolves jumped in shock. Derek didn't take his intense gaze off Stiles.

“I should've stayed,” Stiles muttered, unable to look away from the green eyes that held accusation and betrayal in them. “I never should've-”

“Why did you leave?” Derek asked him, his voice calm. Which meant he was super-pissed. “If you're my... _guardian angel_ , why did you leave me?”

The words hit Stiles like a punch to the gut, and his wings shrunk into his back, disappearing. He opened his mouth to answer when Lydia cut in. “There's a war going on. A civil war, in Heaven. We were fighting.” Her voice was cold and informative, but not unkind.

It no longer seemed like a good reason, just an excuse. By the look on Derek's face, he thought so too.

Stiles took a step forward, towards his ward, feeling the air tingle between them like it always did when Stiles watching him. “Derek, I'm sorry for leaving you. It was-” But before he could finish his sentence, Derek was shouldering past him and walking out the door.

 

* * *

 

Derek was pissed.

This dude crash-lands on his porch, feeds them some bullshit story about wars in Heaven, and expects him to believe it?

The annoying thing was that everyone's heartbeat was steady the whole time, apart from Celestiel's when he found out about the fire. He had the audacity to be sad about _Derek's_ family's death, when he could've prevented it.

And of course, Derek couldn't get a moment of peace, because as soon as he showed up at the loft, the angel was right behind him.

“Derek.”

Derek turned slowly, meeting Celestiel's eyes calmly, the anger draining from his body. If he had learnt anything in the years after Paige's death, it was that holding on to anger will burn you out, like it had with Peter.

“Celestiel,” Derek greeted in a clipped voice. The angel in question looked normal now. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, his wings non-existent. He looked about Scott's age, seventeen or eighteen, except for the eyes. Something about them were unfathomable, ancient.

“Stiles,” he sighed, taking a step forward. Derek's figurative hackles rose, because this was his territory, and it was unnerving how the angel treated it like his own.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked him.

Stiles looked uncomfortable, tugging at his clothing where it hugged his skin too tight. Derek tried to not notice how objectively attractive Stiles was. It was hard, since the angel had to make himself a body that was completely Derek's type.

“I... I want to know what happened,” Stiles replied, and Derek noted that the look of pure devastation when Derek told him about the fire hadn't gone away, or died down. It was fresh, raw.

Derek nodded and sat on the couch, tilting his head at the chair across from it until the angel sat down. Stiles was so young-looking, reminding Derek of Scott.

“Hunters were in town. They trapped everyone with mountain ash and set fire to the place. Laura and I were at school when it happened, and Peter was the only one who got out. He healed, and killed the... the person who did it.”

Stiles' face softened. “Who did it, Derek?” His voice was gentle, soothing, and Derek looked away from him.

“Kate Argent.” The name tasted bitter in his mouth, and not for the first time, he wanted her name scrubbed from his mind, burnt out and leaving no trace behind like she had done to his family. Stiles was wrong, that day in the hospital. It never got easier after the fire.

Stiles sat up straighter. “I know the name,” he said, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. He looked up at the ceiling, before glancing back at Derek. “Where's Laura and Peter now?”

Derek brushed a hand through his hair, because he had never actually said it out loud, what had happened. He thought about it, but never talked about it.

“Laura and I went to New York. Peter was... broken. He stayed. Laura came back to Beacon Hills, and he killed her.”

“What?” The word was more like the expelling of a breath, and Stiles' eyes were wide with horror. If Stiles had watched over him his whole life, he would've encountered Derek's family. Which meant that Stiles knew Peter, before the fire, the Peter that danced to christmas songs and took them on moon-runs.

“He wasn't in his right mind,” Derek managed, his throat closing up at the memory. “Still isn't.”

Stiles shook his head and leaned forward in his seat. “You don't have to go on, Derek. I'm sorry for making you talk about it.” And the angel actually _sounded_ sorry, which was new to Derek. “You've done great without me, but you should never have had to go through it alone. That's all on me.”

“Damn right it is,” Derek replied, his voice rough.

Stiles tilted his head at him, his eyes guilty. “I don't deserve your forgiveness,” he carried on, barking out a short, bitter laugh, bordering on self-deprecation, “but I'm telling you right now, I'm not leaving you again.” Steady heartbeat, truth.

Derek stared down at his hands, unable to meet those amber eyes.

And then Stiles was next to him on the couch, and Derek didn't even have time to flinch away before Stiles was pulling his own shirt up, touching a fingertip to his chest, right above his heart. A line of sigils, foreign-looking and elegant, lit up in bright white against his skin, and something in Derek wanted to touch it, to feel the light, trace the lines. He didn't, though.

Stiles looked up at Derek. “This is your name in Enochian, the language of our kind. It will be here until you die. Or until I die,” he added with a wry twist to his mouth.

“Angels die?” Derek thought it was a legitimate question, but, from the look Stiles gave him, he felt as though the angel was laughing at him.

“Yes, angels die,” he said slowly. His face clouded over with serious darkness. “Or else this war would be endless.”

Derek found an opportunity to change the subject, and took it. “What's happening up there?”

Stiles disappeared in the blink of an eye, sitting back on the armchair. Derek tried to ignore the urge to reach out and touch him, drag him back on the couch. Tried to ignore the feeling that it was _right_ with Stiles next to him. “The storms are our doing, sorry. It's... a long story.”

Derek shrugged and leaned back in the couch. “I've got time.” It would also give him the chance to know more about this boy – _angel_ \- who knew everything about him.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Time is different in Heaven. It's been seven years since I saw you last, for you. It's been thirty for me. So, um, seven years ago, some idiot let Lucifer out of his cage-”

“ _What?_ ”

Stiles waved a hand dismissively. “Let me finish. So Lucifer was walking the Earth, and there was meant to be some big showdown between him and Michael.”

“The archangel?” Derek asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Stiles looked pleased at the interruption. “Yes, the archangel. Pompous asshole. No love lost between us. Anyway, these three humans, and my brother, stopped what would've been the apocalypse by throwing Michael and Lucifer back in the cage.”

“What cage?”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “I don't know exactly what it is. But the point is, they're trapped down there, in the cage, in hell. The apocalypse was stopped, no more End Of Days. And the last remaining archangel, Raphael, didn't like it. He's a traditionalist. So he took over Heaven and tried to free his brothers from the cage again.”

“But you stopped him?”

Stiles shook his head, staring at his hands. “I was down here, Guarding you. Cas asked me to fight beside him, fight Raphael for control of Heaven. The odds... they weren't good. But I said I would.” He looked up at Derek then, his eyebrows pulled together unhappily. “Castiel gave me my own garrison, and for thirty years, we fought. And then Castiel cast us down, for some reason. Luckily he did, though, or else we'd all be dead.”

“Why did you fight?” Derek asked. It wasn't a challenge, he asked it out of genuine curiosity.

Stiles didn't hesitate. “He's my brother. I'd die for him. It helps that he fights for a good cause. Besides,” he added bitterly, “he knew I'd want in.”

Derek raised his eyebrows, but the angel didn't elaborate. He felt uncomfortable, asking all these questions, like this was some kind of interview, so he just nodded and let the silence between them take over.

Stiles watched him, studied him, as if committing him to memory. “After thirty years, I came back to you. Because it feels safe here.” His tone suggested that he didn't expect Derek to respond so he didn't, because what the hell was he meant to say to that? It was the first time that someone had ever said anything like that to him, that thought he was _safe_. Even his pack edged around him in fear. After everything that had happened, all the death and loss, _safe_ was the last thing Derek was.

After a few more moments, Stiles' face cleared and he stood up. A second later, Derek's loft was filled with angels and werewolves.

Jackson swayed on his feet, and Isaac bolted to the toilet to vomit. Scott stumbled to his knees, the angel that had been holding his arm wincing apologetically. “I apologise,” she said, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. “It will pass.”

The strawberry blonde glared at Stiles, who gave her a sheepish look, as if he were preparing himself for a scolding. Despite being the commander of their... garrison?

“Celestiel,” she snapped. “How long are we staying down here? We should be fighting! We can't leave Castiel up there by himself.”

Stiles clenched his fists, like he was standing to attention, and the other angels automatically adjusted their postures to match. “Castiel is capable of holding his own against Raphael; he's done so before. He cast us out for a reason, and until he wants us back, I suggest we respect his wishes.”

The one with green eyes and dark hair, who honestly looked like a male cops stripper, narrowed his eyes. “We're staying here? For how long?” It was clear by his tone that the thought disturbed him.

Stiles looked back at Derek, his eyes softening, before addressing his angels. “I'm going to stay here. When Castiel commands you, and only then, you can go back to Heaven. If you wish to stay with me, Cas won't force you.”

“But we need you! You're our commander, you're our best fighter!” the dark-haired girl protested.

Stiles shrugged. “I'm needed here more, Asariel.” But the look he gave Derek was hesitantly hopeful, like he wasn't sure if Derek would let him, like it was up to _Derek_. He looked back at the red-head. “Lydia, this is what it means to have free will. It's my choice.”

Lydia huffed and crossed her arms. “Free will to be a coward,” she spat.

Derek felt like he should say something, stick up for Stiles, but it wasn't his place. It was obviously unfair, calling Stiles a coward, but then Stiles' face went stony and blank, and Derek figured the angel could handle it himself.

“You would deny me the liberty of my choice?” He stepped forward, not menacingly, but Lydia still stepped back, her face contrite. “Because if you do, you are welcome to join Raphael's cause.”

Lydia shook her head, silent and apologetic. The other angels sent her and Stiles wary looks.

Stiles straightened and looked over his garrison. “We stay. Act like humans. Maybe it will give you all some perspective, considering it's _their_ cause we fight for.”

Isaac, who must've been standing next to Derek the whole time, puffed out a breath. “You'll need human names. We can't just introduce you all as Celestiel or whatever.”

“Well, Stiles works as a nickname,” Scott spoke up, giving Stiles a dimpled smile. “I prefer it, anyway.”

Stiles gave Scott a small smile back, before turning to Isaac. “Okay, kid, what do you suggest we call ourselves?”

Ten minutes later, the angels had been renamed, and Derek found himself wondering what he was going to do with them all.

 

* * *

 

 

A week passed, and during that time, Scott introduced Stiles to the wonders of lacrosse (Stiles thought it was a pointless game, only useful for fueling testosterone and competitive anger, but he didn't tell the kid that), Isaac forced Stiles' angels to watch what he called “superhero movies” (to which Stiles admitted they had their merits, but were still an inaccurate portrayal of motives and clashing personalities), Jackson took them all shopping and taught them how to not look like “hobo drug-addicts that are allergic to washing machines”, and Derek actually _smiled_.

Stiles had been voicing his confusion of the fact that humans seemed to think that watching people while they slept was not socially acceptable, since he'd done it plenty of times, and Derek ducked his head to try and hide his grin.

Isaac noticed, and pointed an accusatory finger at Derek. “You're smiling!”

Derek scowled at the kid, but Isaac was unfazed.

Stiles frowned at the exchange. “You don't smile?”

“Not often,” Isaac answered for him. “But it's okay,” he added, giving Derek a fond look while Derek glared at him, “it makes us feel special when he _does_ smile.” Isaac clapped a hand on Derek's back and walked out of the kitchen.

Stiles frowned at the wolf in front of him. He had learnt, in the past week, that they weren't technically a pack. Peter, after going crazy and killing Laura to become the Alpha, bit Scott, Isaac, and Jackson, and he wouldn't have stopped if Derek hadn't have stepped in and chased him out of town. Another reason Stiles was proud of his ward, taking the newly-bitten teens in as his own and acting as Alpha, even though they were technically an omega pack.

Asariel (or Allison) had lost her ward while she was in Heaven, though she hadn't exactly liked her in the first place. She told Stiles that her ward was a psychotic, homicidal maniac, and part of the reason why she left to fight Raphael.

And Balthioul, who had taken the name of Boyd (Stiles wasn't judging), was currently talking Cora into coming back to Beacon Hills, which was taking longer than expected.

“Why are you different?” Derek asked, the scowl gone from his face. Stiles had been making pasta, an art he had perfected and loved to show off, so he stopped grating the cheese and looked over at his ward.

“What do you mean?”

Derek shrugged, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. Stiles tried to hold back his grin at the surly wolf's curiosity. “You have wings, and the others just have shadows. Why?”

Stiles went back to grating the cheese. “We're meant to possess vessels when we come down to Earth. We talk to them, and they consent. I didn't want to do that to Scott, I didn't want to take over his life. It's very rare, but occasionally, Seraphs can create their own vessel, different to a human body.” He avoiding grating his fingers and wiped his hands on his jeans. “So I did, and it weakened me. I tried to look like Scott, but...” Stiles looked down at his body, pale and mole-spotted.

“Didn't try hard enough,” Derek noted, giving him a once-over. “You're a Seraph?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Cas and I. What do you know about angel hierarchy?”

Derek shook his head, still watching Stiles. It was unnerving, since Stiles was used to Derek looked through him, not seeing him. He was so used to being invisible to his ward. “Never thought it'd be useful before.”

“Well Cas and I are Seraph, the highest order of angels, in the First Sphere. Boyd is a Cherub, a protector of the Throne. Jeduthan – _Jordan_ , is Ophanim, sort of like the law-enforcers. In the Second Sphere, Asariel is a Virtue, Lydia a Power. Both are warriors, and keepers of history. And Eiael is from the Third Sphere, a Principality. She carries out orders and blessings. Used to be a Cupid.”

“I thought archangels were the highest order,” Derek said, curling his fingers around the beer bottle in his hands.

Stiles shrugged. “Depends. We view them as a brotherhood, since they _are_ brothers. They're the most powerful, but they aren't an order as such. They manage Heaven, make the big decisions.”

“Because God left.”

Stiles nodded, and opened his mouth to reply when Jackson sauntered in. “Is the food done yet? I'm starving.”

“No,” Derek replied, giving the teen a glare.

Stiles sighed and peered at the pasta. He preferred to cook things from scratch. He didn't eat, but he enjoyed cooking it. Two seconds later, he was handing Isaac, Jackson, and Derek bowls of it, mourning the loss of the opportunity to finish the meal properly. Scott was having dinner with his mother and stepfather. Derek was Isaac's legal guardian after his father was arrested for abuse, and Jackson just liked to avoid his parents.

Asariel – Allison, he reminded himself – appeared behind him, startling Derek. Stiles took in her tear-stained face and slumped shoulders, and reached out his senses. A sense of foreboding and _evil_ filled him, and he stood up straight to attention, Allison copying his motions. The others – minus Boyd – flew in from wherever they had been lurking, and Derek was sniffing the air.

“Blood,” he growled around fangs.

Stiles threw him a warning look, silently telling him to stay where he was and stay silent, before appearing at the loft door and sliding it open.

And there, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, was a body, twisted and mutilated, but still recognisable. Peter Hale.

Derek was there in an instant, kneeling at Peter's side and pulling him onto his back. The Alpha's face was bruised and bloodied, and his shirt was soaked with blood, slashed up to ribbons. Stiles couldn't sense a soul in the body, or hear a heartbeat.

And then a phone started ringing, from Peter's pocket. Derek looked up at Stiles briefly, his expression guarded even as his soul darkened with grief, before reaching into Peter's jacket and bringing out the phone. He pressed a button and brought it to his ear.

After a few seconds, his expression darkened. “Kate,” he growled out, as if the name was torn from his lips. “You're dead.”

Stiles crouched beside him, trying to listen in on the conversation.

“ _How does it feel, Derek? To be all alone? You're the last one, you know. Peter killed me before I got to finish the job. I'm coming for you next, sweetheart._ ” The call cut off.


	2. Our Questions Are All The Same, A Den Of Cold Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Celestiel, is it? Yeah, I've heard tales from my time down under,” Kate purred, her voice low and flirty. “The heartbroken angel of vengeance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I think this chapter is longer? And, uh, raise your tissues if you subjected yourself to the torture that is Twist and Shout. Oh, and there's a little neoligism in there. Colloquiallise is not a word. Yet. It will be, one day.

There were a thousand things Stiles needed to focus on, a thousand commands to his garrison. But he could only bring himself to care about the man kneeling beside the body of his uncle, breathing shallowly and visibly showing restraint on his wolf. His soul burned bright with anger and sorrow.

Stiles kept his voice low. “Derek, look at me.”

Derek shook his head, glaring at the phone in his clawed hand, his eyes flashing blue.

Stiles reached out a hand and curled it around Derek's jaw, his fingers lightly stroking the fur on his cheeks. Derek flinched, even as his fangs lengthened, and Stiles knew what he was afraid of. The wolf was tense and ready to bolt, for the fear of going feral and hurting anyone.

“I need you to steady your breathing, okay?” Stiles sucked in a few breaths, slowly, and Derek tried to match them.

“Stiles – she... I...”

Stiles turned Derek's face towards him, meeting his blue eyes. “Shh. Remember what your mother taught you. The mantra,” Stiles reminded him. He'd been there when Derek had first started having problems with control, had refrained from helping the young wolf because he had needed to learn it on his own.

Derek didn't chant the phrase – Alpha, Beta, Omega – out loud, but after a few more moments, anger took control of his fear and panic. Stiles had never approved of such a negative emotion being used to tie you to your humanity, but he was grateful for it now.

Once the fur under Stiles' fingers had faded to stubble, Stiles dropped his hand to the wolf's shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, before standing up straight and facing his angels.

Allison was still staring at Peter's body in horror. “Demon,” she whispered. “She's a demon.”

“What?” Jackson yelped. “Demons are real?”

Everyone looked to Stiles, who sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is no coincidence.”

“What do you mean?” Isaac demanded, his voice steely and brave.

“He means, this is because of us,” Lydia explained, eyeing the body warily. “Because of the war.”

“ _Heaven's_ war?” Derek's voice was rough and little more than a growl.

Stiles nodded. “Castiel has made more enemies than friends, the king of Hell being one of them.”

“What makes you so sure this was Crowley's doing?” Jordan asked.

“Because Kate hasn't been dead long enough for the torture of Hell to turn her into a demon. Which means he used one of his party tricks,” Stiles replied with disgust, “to twist her soul prematurely.”

Derek's emotions turned bitter at the edges of his anger. “Her soul was already twisted.”

“So he sent her here to do – what? A single demon isn't a threat to _one_ angel, let alone a whole garrison and a _seraph_ ,” Erica said.

Stiles shrugged. He was becoming increasingly familiar with the human gesture. It summed up his feelings well. “I'm not making the mistake of underestimating Crowley.”

“He's a petty crossroads dealer with an inflated ego,” Lydia sniffed. “There's nothing there to underestimate.”

Stiles pointed at her. “That was an underestimation _right there_. No more underestimating. That's an order.” She rolled her eyes but didn't protest. “Besides, this is an indirect threat to me and through me, Castiel.” He looked back at Derek, whose fury was evident on his face. “He targeted my ward, to get to me. Take me out of the equation, and Castiel has lost his second-in-command and his best fighters.”

Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Castiel's already lost you, if you're staying here.”

Stiles elected to ignore the jibe, instead turning to Derek, who was watching him with expressionless, empty eyes. Stiles could see through it, could tell that he was the opposite of _empty_. Could sense all of the emotions – loss, anger, hurt, fear – boiling up inside of him. “We need to get you out of here.”

Allison stepped forward, the tears gone and replaced with a look that could wilt flowers. “No. We should stay and kill her.”

Stiles met her glare with a soft look. “Are you sure you want to kill your own ward?”

Allison lifted her chin with a look of regal dignity. “ _Your_ Guardianship may have been a punishment, Celestiel, but having to Guard Katherine Argent was a penalty _I_ never deserved.”

* * *

 

The room went silent, the tension in the air almost too heavy to bear as Allison and Stiles faced off. Their stares were heated and intense, and anyone could smell the unadulterated anger radiating from Stiles. The other angels were visibly disturbed by the comment, and Derek wondered why the topic was so sensitive.

It hurt less than Derek expected, to find out he was a _punishment,_ but it still hurt. Of course, why would an _angel_ of the highest order willingly stick around Derek his whole life? Who would subject themselves to that?

Eventually, Isaac started to whine at the silent conflict. He had always been the most sensitive to emotional situations, no matter how aloof he appeared to be.

“Stiles,” Derek said cautiously, wondering if it was safe to touch the angel, if it was possible to calm him down like he had calmed Derek down.

Allison glanced back at the body, at Peter's body, before she lowered her chin in submission. The rest of the angels followed suit, instinctively showing respect to their commander, just like betas would to an Alpha. It was hard for Derek to wrap his head around the fact that his angel was obviously an influential, important member of the Heavenly Host (as Stiles called the army of Heaven).

Stiles nodded, short and quick and almost imperceptible. “Fine. We'll stay.” And then he disappeared.

Derek fought down the anxiety that rose up whenever that happened. Because Stiles had told him that he would never leave, and he had to believe that, trust in that. It was still hard, whenever he left, because there was nothing stopping him from leaving a second time, for good. And whenever the angel was out of sight, Derek's mind started leaking doubts about how real Stiles actually was. There was a small part of him, tucked away in a self-deprecating corner of his mind, that refused to believe Stiles was anything other than a figment of Derek's imagination.

Derek dismissed the notion whenever it rose, because his imagination had never been vivid enough to conjure up something as pure and light as an _angel_. Never vivd enough to conjure up _Stiles_.

His pack picked up on the distress pouring from him, and pushed past him to pick up his uncle's body. He moved to help, but Jackson growled under his breath.

“We've got this, Derek,” Isaac called out in a gentle voice, barely coloured with disgust. “It's okay.” Jackson grunted noncommittally, but didn't protest, so Derek let them go. He didn't allow himself one last look at Peter, because the cut up and mutilated corpse in the teens' arms wasn't Peter. There was no Peter after the fire, only a burnt up husk of a man, filled with the desire of revenge and rage-filled purpose.

_'How does it feel, Derek? To be all alone?'_

_Well, Kate, it feels pretty shitty, but I've been alone for a long time._

Boyd and Erica seemed to be having a silent discussion, and Derek wouldn't have been surprised if it was telepathic. But then Erica ended up looking satisfied and Boyd exasperated, before he disappeared just as abruptly as Stiles.

Lydia walked up to Allison, her eyes blazing. “You _know_ not to bring that up, Asariel!”

Allison shook her head, guilt plastered all over her face. After one short week, every angel had started adopting human expressions with ease, but the more... _negative_ emotions had been the first they could portray. “I didn't mean to offend, Lydia. I would never.”

Lydia brushed her hand through her hair and stepped back, huffing a sigh and giving Allison a glare. Allison disappeared, teleported, whatever it was called.

“What are you talking about?” Derek asked the three remaining angels. They looked up at him, as if they had forgotten he was there. He could focus on their Heavenly Drama more easily than what had just happened. He pushed away thoughts of Kate in favour of finding out exactly _what_ had occurred between the angels.

“We don't talk about it, _boy_ , and you should know better than to ask,” Lydia snapped.

Derek was unfazed. Lydia was a snob, and he had gotten used to it. She was kind of entitled to it, being an angel and everything. “What is he like?” he asked, instead of pushing the subject.

“Celestiel? You know,” Jordan replied, narrowing his eyes at Derek.

Derek raised his eyebrows. “Stiles is thousands of years old. I don't know him.”

Lydia seemed to consider the question, before appearing on an armchair, Jordan in the other, Erica leaning against a nearby column. Derek sat across from them on the sofa, and waited for them to start.

“He's unlike any other angel I've met,” Lydia said. “Castiel and Celestiel have always been close, and shared their love of humanity. Castiel is more serious, earnest. Celestiel... he's cunning, smart. He's the strategist of the whole war.”

Jordan frowned. “There are things that we don't feel comfortable telling you, Derek. Things we hope he will tell you in his own time, you understand. Things that have caused him a lot of pain and grief. Celestiel is an angry angel.”

Erica snorted. “Angry? He's _vengeful_. You've seen him fight, Jeduthan. He's pure rage on the battlefield.”

“Some women like a bad boy, you know,” Stiles said from behind Derek, who jumped. Stiles was mirroring Erica, leaning against a column, his voice amused but his eyes warning them to tread carefully.

Erica shrugged, unperturbed, acting like the teenage girl she looked like. Derek frowned and sniffed at the air, but the scent he caught wasn't familiar, though it was close.

“It's... sexually appealing.”

Stiles burst out laughing, all previous tension evaporated in the face of his full-body laugh, his shoulders shaking and his head thrown back. “I think you mean 'hot', Erica,” he said when he could speak again.

“Or sexy,” Lydia offered.

“Seductive?” Jordan suggested, scrunching up his nose.

“No,” Stiles mused. “That doesn't sound right.”

Derek would never admit to finding angels trying to colloquiallise entertaining, but it was. Sometimes they threw a word in a conversation so utterly outdated that the wolves were left confused and the angels frustrated.

Stiles moved towards the couch and the unzipped hoodie he was wearing shifted slightly, exposing a dark red stain on one of Scott's old graphic t-shirts. That strange scent intensified, and Derek had jumped to his feet and was at Stiles' side in an instant, pulling the hoodie off him and lifting up his shirt.

Stiles sighed and tugged his hands away, maneuvering out of Derek's reach but staying close to him, a hand on his shoulder. “I'm fine.”

Erica, Lydia, and Jordan had stood up as well, eyeing Stiles with concern that he brushed off flippantly.

“'Tis but a flesh wound.”

Derek growled and lifted Stiles' shirt again, only to find the blood smeared around his skin, but having no source. There was no gaping wound, no cause for the frankly scary amount of blood on his shirt.

“What happened?” Derek barked, his fingers skimming over the blood, shaking. Someone had hurt Stiles, someone had hurt _his_ angel, and the only reassurance Derek had was that Stiles was more than capable of smiting anyone who tried, but it still angered him. Derek was hanging by a thread over the threat of going feral. His estranged, psychotic uncle had just been murdered by his zombie-demon ex-girlfriend, and if he lost the one person who had actually _come back to him_ , he'd lose it.

Of course, Derek had no idea if Stiles would stay like he said he would, if he found out the truth about Kate.

Stiles grabbed his wrists, encircling them in his long fingers, and pulled them away from his stomach again, his amber eyes soft and fond. “Derek, I'm _fine_. It was kind of my fault.”

Derek shook his head, even as Jordan spoke, “Where did you go?”

Stiles didn't break eye-contact with Derek, but he raised his voice. “I tried to find Cas. Ran into those two hunters.”

“The Winchesters? _The_ Winchesters?” Erica's tone was slightly awed and amused.

Stiles rolled his eyes at her, letting go of Derek's wrists. “I used to think they were pretty great, too, until Dean stabbed me in the stomach.”

Stiles flopped down on the couch, stretching his body along the length of it and wriggling until he found a comfortable position. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “They haven't seen him for a while. Of course, I couldn't get that much out of them until they had trapped me in holy oil and threatened to fry me up like Kentucky.” He pulled a face. “Whatever that means.”

“You've smote humans for less,” Lydia reminded him.

Stiles opened one eye and peered at her. “I'm not going to kill the men who finally pulled the stick out of Cas' ass, Lydia.”

Lydia examined her nails, tossing her hair behind her back. “No need to use such distasteful language, Celestiel.”

Stiles closed his eyes again. “Anyway, they've been chasing after Crowley for a while. Told me his ego is inflating with the new monarchy, so he's looking to kidnap an angel for some kind of bargaining chip.”

Derek stiffened. “He wants to kidnap you? Can he do that?”

Erica shrugged. “Crowley's a tricky guy. Used to be King of the Crossroads, so he picked up a few artifacts and secrets, enough to take down a Cherub.” She glanced down at Stiles. “Not sure about a Seraph though. Or a whole garrison.”

Stiles' face cleared for a second, what he was planning to say next obviously being a serious matter. “Everyone thinks I'm weakened. From prison.”

Lydia winced, her eyes going pained. Derek wanted to ask the obvious question, but he caught Erica's eye and she shook her head, so he decided to bring it up another time.

* * *

 

Stiles winced at the twinge in his side. Those Winchester brothers were jerks.

He'd appeared to them while they were in some scummy motel room, cleaning their guns and having a heart-to-heart about family or something.

And Dean had been so surprised he slid the angel blade out from his boot and stuck it in Stiles' side. It wouldn't have been as much of a problem if he were in a vessel, but vessels _contained_ grace, and Stiles' current body was _composed_ of it. So he was still a little out-of-it when Sam circled oil around him and lit it up.

They still emanated distrust, but they were eager enough to give up details about Crowley, so Stiles figured he hadn't been stabbed for nothing.

When Isaac, Jackson, and Scott had arrived at the loft (Scott had gripped him in an awkward, constricting hug as soon as he spotted Stiles), the angels seared anti-possession sigils into their hearts. Which, yeah, must've hurt a lot, considering Jackson passed out and Isaac threw up.

Derek's soul was buzzing, the incorporeal equivalent of pacing, tinged slightly yellow with guilt. Stiles knew, in the instinctual way that a Guardian knew their ward, that Derek wasn't telling him something. It was eating away at him, and while he'd been sitting on it all week, as soon as Peter's body turned up he had closed off.

“We need a plan,” Lydia hissed in his ear, thrusting a cup of coffee in his hands and giving him a steady look. Stiles glanced over to where the wolves were resting, on the couch, watching some television show about vampires and werewolves and calling out the show's faults with snickers and indignation.

Stiles sighed. “I know. I just – I can take Crowley, but we'd need to deal with the fallout.”

Lydia sat next to him at the table. “We can handle demons.”

Stiles jerked his head towards the pack. “ _They_ can't. And as soon as Crowley's dead, we'll have swarms of them.” Not out of loyalty or revenge, but out of a cause to _kill._

Lydia nodded and tapped her fingers against the mug of her own coffee. It did nothing to energise them, and they weren't dangerously dependant on it like Derek and Isaac, but it warmed them up, and the taste was comforting.

“So we'll have to put Crowley in his place without killing him.”

Stiles looked across the loft, where Derek was reading a book, away from the teenagers. The light of the half-moon illuminated his profile, his head ducked down and his legs stretched out. His shoulders were still tense. Stiles hadn't seen them relaxed since he Fell.

Lydia noticed him looking and raised an eyebrow. “I'm not going to pretend to empathise about Guardian bonds. But I can see why you want to stay.”

“He's hurting,” Stiles replied softly. “He's hurting, and I don't know how to help. But it's my job.”

Lydia softened her gaze and gave him a tiny smile. “He's changed since you left. You just need to catch up. Relearn him, get to understand the part of him that you missed in six years.”

Stiles shook his head, but didn't answer. He left Derek when Derek needed him the most, and the fact that he had let Stiles back into his life at all had taken him a while to get his head around. The Derek he knew before the fire wouldn't have, but this Derek was weary, tired of losing people and being alone. Stiles was surprised at how much he had in common with his ward.

“Where's Boyd?” he asked finally, breaking the silence.

“Convincing _his_ ward to come home. You should tell Derek.”

Stiles swallowed and nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I'll tell him now.”

Lydia shook her head and put a hand on his arm, pushing him back in his seat. “Not now. He doesn't need to worry about his younger sister. After we've dealt with Crowley.” She sighed and finished off her coffee. “You're too impulsive.”

“My spontaneity has saved you many times before, Lydia,” Stiles reminded her.

She glared at him. “And you almost got yourself killed every time!” she snapped. Stiles glanced around to find every eye in the room on them. “You always do this. You dedicate your existence to some _cause_ that doesn't match the value of your own life! And you pay the price _every time_. You are my leader and I would follow you anywhere, but I am not blind to your suicidal tendencies, and I know what's running through your mind.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at her. “Enlighten me, Lydia, please.”

She glowered at him, her eyes brightening to blue in anger. “You're thinking that if Crowley thinks you're weaker, he'll come after you. No one can resist poking into Celestiel's brain, right? And then you'd lead him away from us, away from _them_ , and deal with him by yourself.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue his point, but Erica cut in before he could. “Is this true, Celestiel?”

Stiles huffed and dragged a hand down his face as they crowded around him. “I just thought-”

“You didn't think,” Allison interrupted sharply. “We will _not_ stand by while our commander so carelessly disregards his life.”

Stiles glared at her. “It's a good plan. Everybody knows Crowley is drooling after a seraph. He's been tailing Cas for a while now, and he wrongly assumes I'm weaker than I used to be.”

“Would it be worth it?” Derek asked him, his voice neutral. Something in his tone stopped Stiles from replying straight away.

But he still answered. “Yes. If it can save you, then _yes_ , it's worth it. Demons don't stop, Derek. They'll target everyone. Scott's family, Jackson's family – everyone. I can handle the king of hell.”

Scott shook his head. “You said so yourself, that you can't underestimate him. And the king of hell doesn't sound harmless. We'll find another way.”

Stiles heard the rush of wings before he felt the presence. “Celestiel's right,” a deep voice said from behind him.

The angels' eyes were wide with surprise, and the wolves immediately flashed their eyes, tensing and letting their fangs drop. Stiles sighed and turned around.

“Castiel,” he greeted. “It's great that I only had to wait a _week_ to find out you're alive.”

Castiel's blue eyes held Stiles' gaze, and he tilted his head. “Celestiel. You're not possessing your vessel.”

Stiles shrugged. “Not a big fan of vessels.” _You know why that is_.

Cas nodded. “I trust none of you were injured in the Fall?” he asked the others, who straightened to attention.

Stiles answered for them. They were still kind of intimidated by his younger brother. “We were fine. Why did you cast us out?”

“Balthazar gave me a weapon, one that specifically targets archangels. You were all too close for me to use it without vaporizing you.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “So you've won?”

Cas shook his head, the look on his face weary. “Raphael's dead, as are most of his followers, but there are other factions. They will be easier to defeat.”

“Do you need us?” Lydia asked him.

“Not yet, though I may need assistance in the future.” Cas' eyes flickered across the room, taking in the wolves, who were staring at him with wary faces. He looked back at Stiles. “A wolf pack?”

Stiles shrugged. “Can we focus on the part where you said I was right?”

Castiel nodded. “Of course. I have heard that Crowley is looking for a seraph, to _experiment_ on.” He said the word with distaste, “And, considering Zachariah is dead and Naomi has barricaded herself in Heaven, you and I are the ones he has his eyes on.”

“Then why don't you draw him away?” Jackson asked, his eyes steel and his voice challenging even as the angels in the room held their breath.

Castiel was unperturbed. “Because out of the two of us, he wants Celestiel more.”

“Why?” Isaac queried, his eyes narrowing.

“Because if any other angel took over Heaven, they'd let Lucifer and Michael out of their cages, to kickstart the apocalypse, and Crowley would suffer endless torture at the hands of Lucifer,” Lydia replied smoothly.

“And Celestiel is an anomaly, more so than myself,” Castiel added. “Naomi's dug into his mind countless times and she never achieved anything.”

“She called me defective,” Stiles protested.

“Think about it,” Castiel urged, giving the other angels unreadable looks. “Celestiel has secrets that he doesn't even know about, and Crowley will want access to them. Celestiel can draw him away from his ward and the pack, lead him into an ambush.”

“And what happens if he takes you, Stiles?” Derek asked him, shooting a glare at Castiel.

Cas turned to him and mouthed _Stiles?_ , but Stiles just shook his head at him and answered his ward. “I can handle it.”

“Broken record, Stiles,” Jackson sniped. “What the hell is so precious about you, huh? What secrets are so important that you have the fucking _king of hell_ stalking you?”

Stiles snapped. The questions, the arguments, the dirty looks he was getting from _everyone_ , and the lack of faith? Yeah, it was getting to him. “Have I not proved my abilities? Have I not been through hell in Heaven, through a millennia of torture and imprisonment, and not gone completely insane? I have endured more than any of you, so don't you _ever_ assume I can't handle _one little demon_.”

His little speech shocked everyone, except Castiel, who looked pleased at the outburst. “ _That's_  why Crowley wants you. Any other angel would've broken. _I_ have broken. Crowley wants to break the unbreakable.”

“Okay, hold up. Stop flattering me, Jesus. I'm not some celebrity. I'm the opposite.”

“It's true,” Erica said, nodding solemnly. “He's like Hitler in Heaven.”

Stiles pointed at Erica. “You. Shut up.” He met everyone's eyes. “I'm going to do this. You can't stop me.”

There was a few minutes silence. Literal minutes, which were as awkward as they were silent. And then Allison nodded. “Okay.” And immediately, the tension in the room lifted, even as everyone still looked unhappy at the idea.

Castiel turned to Stiles. “I must go back. Rachel is in command at the moment.”

 _And_ the tension was back.

* * *

 Scott was exhausted, and more than ready to get home to his mom and the sheriff, especially since the king of _Hell_ was lurking around with his demons. But as soon as Castiel left, he ignored the anger that was pouring off Stiles, _literally_ sparking in the air, and grabbed the seraph's hand, tugging him out of the loft and downstairs until they were outside, out of earshot.

Stiles was glaring, but it wasn't directed at him, so Scott wasn't worried. Though he had never seen him as angry as he was. Stiles was the laid back one, the sarcastic angel that cheered anyone up with a little calculated obliviousness and a cheeky wink. And yet there were things, little things, that set him off into a dark mood so broody it put Derek to shame.

There was that day he came with Scott to talk to his mother at the hospital, and someone had been trying to calm down a toddler. Stiles had picked the kid up and murmured a few words, bumping the kid up and down on his hip and looking so at ease and confident that Scott's mom had asked where he got the experience. And then he had closed up, his eyes going distant and his mind distracted, the distress and loss concentrated in the air around him.

The time Scott and Allison were joking around. He was showing her how to use a phone, and he'll shamelessly admit to the way his heart stuttered when she laughed, her brown curls brushing his cheek when she ducked her head to peer at the screen. From Jackson's eye roll, he heard the stutter too. And when Scott caught Stiles' eye, he was wearing an expression of mild panic and pain.

“What's your deal?” Scott asked, maybe a little rougher than he intended.

Stiles blinked, and the broodiness was replaced with confusion almost immediately. “What?”

“ _You_. You're all angsty and angry. Why?”

Stiles relaxed, leaning against the side of the building. Scott heard the tear of clothing as Stiles shook his wings free, groaning slightly as they stretched to full size. He took a few moments to answer. “It's nothing. But thanks. For getting me out of there,” he added at Scott's confused look.

Scott sighed and absently stroked the wing that was quivering and hovering next to him, taking in the slight shocks that he always got when he touched Stiles' wings. “No problem, dude.”

A comfortable silence settled around them, Stiles' wings were tucked against his back like a large black, feathered cloak. Scott leaned next to him against the wall and let out a breath, which puffed out visibly in the cool night air.

“Allison and I...” Scott trailed off and turned his head to look at Stiles, who had tensed. “It'd be okay, right? I mean, I don't even know if she likes me, at all, but I really like her. I know she's an angel, and she's a million times out of my league, but if there was the slightest chance... Would you be cool with it?”

Stiles stared ahead, his body still apart from the fingers that were tapping against his thigh. “Yeah,” he replied. “She... She returns your affections.” His voice was strained and... wistful?

“Are _you_ cool with that?” Scott asked, pushing aside the pure elation that Allison felt the same way (but he was _so_ going to do a victory dance later) in favour of figuring out why Stiles was acting so strange about this, “Are you two... are you a thing?”

“A thing?” Stiles scrunched up his nose, like he did when some modern slang or colloquialism confused him. Allison did the same thing, it was adorable. “You mean... Asariel and I? No. She is a friend.” Stiles said firmly. “A sister.”

“Then why are you so worked up about it?” Scott asked him.

Stiles sighed. “It has nothing to do with you, Scott, nor Allison. I have my own reasons for reacting the way I do, and I do not want to share them. I apologise if I've made you uncomfortable.” He turned his head to lock eyes with Scott. “That was not my intention.”

Scott gave him a small smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it. “Look, man, if you ever need to talk about it... We're friends.”

Stiles frowned in thought, his wings twitching. “Friends?” he echoed, as if the idea had never even crossed his mind. Angels are weird.

“Yes, _friends_. So whatever it is... you don't have to bear it alone. It looks like it's tearing you up.”

“It's heartbreak.”

Scott spun around in shock at the new voice, and Stiles' wings snapped to attention.

And Kate stood there, looking as if she hadn't aged a day from the day she had her throat torn open, her lips twisted in a nasty smirk.

“Celestiel, is it? Yeah, I've heard tales from my time down under,” Kate purred, her voice low and flirty. Scott barely felt himself shift until his claws were cutting into his clenched fists. “The heartbroken angel of vengeance.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Katherine Argent.”

Kate let out a light laugh, her eyes sparkling. “I didn't realise you'd be so cute. Or coherent. Tell me, how did the centuries of torture not fry your little noodle?”

Scott didn't care for what Kate was spouting out, the smell of sulphur overtaking his senses and making him want to sneeze, to get it _out_.

And then the quietest, sweetest whispering filled Scott's ears. He couldn't make out the words, but it triggered memories of bright lights and peanut buttercups. Scott spun around to see Stiles, his eyes glowing blue and getting brighter, impossibly brighter, as his wings extended above the flames and the whispering got louder.

Scott could hear footsteps running down the stairs, and smelled the ozone cracking, which signified the impending arrival of an angel, but he zeroed in on the flaming match that fell from Kates fingers, and the trail of fire that spread in a circle around them.

“Celestiel,” a voice warned from their right. Lydia, her eyes betraying her panic.

An enraged snarl brought the arrival of Derek with Isaac and Jackson at his heels. He charged towards Kate, shifted and angry. “Don't,” Stiles called out, a little desperately. “Stay where you are. All of you.”

Kate smirked. “Yes, do as your commander says. All I have to do is splash a little holy oil on your precious prodigy angel, and he and the mutt go up in flames.”

Derek growled menacingly, and his eyes flashed blue before he shifted back. “Let them go.”

“Right, Kate, you've got me,” Stiles said, his eyes darting nervously towards Derek. “So take me, and _only_ me. Leave them out of this.”

Kate tapped the water bottle in her hands that Scott assumed was full of holy oil. “Now, you see here, Celestiel, Crowley told me I could do whatever I want, have whatever I want, as long as I gift-wrap you for him. And I want _him_.” She jerked her head towards Derek, who growled at her again.

Stiles shook his head, a stubborn set to his jaw. “You leave them alone, or there's nothing stopping me from stepping into the flames.”

Kate's eyes narrowed. “You're bluffing.”

Stiles met her eyes with an earnest, calm gaze. “Try me.”

Derek let out a choked noise, and Boyd stepped forward, shrugging off Erica's arm. Allison's face was pale and shocked, and Jordan looked like he was holding himself back from decking Kate there and then. Scott was pretty sure he heard Jackson's heartbeat pick up in time with Isaac's panicked breaths.

Stiles was serious. There was no lie in his heartbeat, only steady resolve. He was prepared to step into the flames, he was prepared to _commit suicide_ , and Scott had a new respect for this angel who selflessly threw his life away for his friends, without allowing a second for doubt. Of course, that didn't mean Scott condoned it.

“You're crazy,” he muttered around his fangs.

“Yeah,” Stiles murmured, “this isn't one of my better spontaneous decisions.”

Kate looked defeated, and she sighed. “Fine. But your protection will only last until you've outlived your purpose. Then I'll be back for you, honey,” Kate told Derek, blowing him a kiss. “And then she disappeared, leaving Scott alone in a circle of fire.

The angels were gone in an instant, God knows where. Isaac and Jackson were shooting Derek cautious looks, but made no effort to comfort him.

The flames died down almost instantly, as if it was _Stiles_ that had fueled them, and Scott jumped over the line of burnt-up oil, making his way towards Derek.

Who was staring at the spot Kate was standing on, looking torn open and vulnerable. The man had lost his whole family to that woman, the demon who had stolen the one good thing he had, the person who had come back to him after everything. She had taken it all.

Scott squeezed Derek's shoulder, his breath coming out in stutters because _this wasn't fair goddamn it._ Stiles didn't deserve it, _Celestiel_ didn't deserve it. And Derek sure as hell didn't deserve it.

“We'll get him back,” Scott told Derek, his voice rough and raw. “We're going to find him.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know if you like this or not, because your opinions matter, dudes.


	3. You Taught Me The Courage Of Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the sheriff is kinda Scott's stepdad in this, though it's barely mentioned. And yeah, this chapter is pretty long. Brief torture, btw, sorry I changed the warnings and shit.

“You have a nice accent,” Stiles mumbled drowsily. “British. Refreshingly stereotypical villian.”

The man he was talking to drew back from where he was screwing one of the bolts in deeper.

“My, my, you _are_ a strange angel,” Crowley said, regarding Stiles with gleefully cold interest.

Stiles let out a breathy laugh. “What makes you think you can get me to crack?”

Crowley frowned at him for a few moments, before picking up the angel blade from the table next to him and sticking it in between Stiles' ribs. Stiles screamed, his voice pitching higher and higher as the blade twisted up, his body tense with agony, the metal burning through his Grace. “I doubt Naomi has as vivid of an imagination as I do, Celestiel. Or... what is it your dogs call you? Stanley?”

Stiles gritted his teeth and didn't reply, choosing instead to glare at the demon in front of him, his real face flickering through the skin of his vessel and making Stiles' stomach lurch at the sight.

“ _Stiles_ , that's it. So, Stiles, how do you like my tie? I picked it out special for our little play-date. Didn't want you to think I wasn't making an effort.”

Stiles peered at the tie in question, a deep, classy purple dotted with tiny green christmas trees. “Festive,” he commented, “but can we skip to the fun part of this 'play date'?”

Crowley smiled, and it was a creepy smile, full of promise and pain. “Thought you'd never ask.”

He leaned forward and twisted another bolt in Stiles' head, tighter, tighter, _tighter_ , until Stiles could feel the cool steel poke through his brain. Naomi had done this plenty of times, and Crowley was kidding himself if he thought that he could get more creative that _her._

After Stiles had stopped screaming, he peered through the blood that was clumping in his lashes from the bolt stuck in his forehead, to glare at Crowley, who was wiping his hands on his apron.

“Your apron is ridiculous,” Stiles slurred, the pain making it hard for him to concentrate on articulation. “And your face is disgusting.”

Crowley tutted. “You angels. So bad at banter, it's no fun.”

“When I get out of here, I will slow cook your real bones and watch as your flesh boils off that vessel of yours.”

Crowley gave him a long, searching look, before clapping his hands slowly. “You are one rage-filled ball of righteousness, aren't you? A miracle, really. An extreme opposite of Lucifer. He despised humanity, you fell in love with it. Tell me, was it worth it? A brief, lust-filled affair and an illegal love-child. Scandalous.”

Stiles closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Crowley had him trapped in Enochian sigils, specifically designed to render angel powers useless. As a seraph, Stiles could still heal himself. If he were in a vessel. The body he made, it wouldn't last long, and he really didn't want to expose the vulnerablilty of it to the king of Hell.

“That wolf of yours... Derek, is it? Kate told me about him. Didn't realise you angels cared about monsters. Then again, I've got my Juliet, so I can't judge.”

“Are you just going to talk me to death?” Stiles spat, struggling against the bonds that tied him to the chair, not as an attempt to escape but to show how Crowley hadn't broken him yet. He had spent a millennia under worse conditions.

“Now, darling, I thought you loved my voice.” Crowley screwed another bolt in, and wiggled the one in Stiles' temple. “Rumour has it you're Cassie's big brother.”

Something flitted within the confines of Stiles' subconscious, and he thought, for a panicked second, that maybe Crowley _had_ managed to break into his coding, like Naomi had never managed. But it was something different. He almost missed the flicker of anger in the pool of his own, but this anger was weaker than the anger he carried around. It was foreign. It was Derek's.

Stiles hadn't felt the emotional connection between them since he left to fight in Heaven, but it was trickling back in, slowly, over time.

“Hmm, I can see it. You have the same squint.” Crowley leaned closer, his face an inch from Stiles'. Stiles couldn't get away from the stench of sulfur, and he held back a gag. “You and the Godsquad have been disturbing my demons with your little tantrums upstairs.” A slice to the bicep, a sucked in breath of pain. “I've got demons _cowering_ in Hell like it's a bomb shelter.” Stab in the stomach, pained groan. “And then I hear the infamous Celestiel has Fallen from Heaven, unbroken and sound of mind. And I thought to myself... when was the last time I tortured a Guardian?”

Stiles was already shaking his head. He'd heard horror stories of this, it didn't take much to guess which tree Crowley was barking up.

“Five decades. The pitiful little chump only lasted a week. But it was long enough for me to find out which buttons to push, and how hard.” The knife was slipping under Stiles' shirt, and the moment it caressed the skin above his heart, where Derek's name was tattooed, Stiles bit down on his tongue so hard it started bleeding. The pain in his chest, at the caress of the blade, was barely bearable.

“So this here, the one-way street of empathy? How about we make your puppy feel what you're feeling,” Crowley sneered, digging the blade in harder. It broke the skin and kept going, slowly, agonisingly. “A shared experience. I've seen your type before, Celestiel. I wouldn't put it past you to make the same mistake twice. I wonder, would the angels even bother to wipe _his_ memory? Or would they just strike him down?” Crowley slid the blade out before it could touch his heart, which was struggling to beat steadily.

“No,” Stiles mumbled, pulling away, stretching the rope around his wrists. “No, stop! Don't-” his voice choked off when the blade slammed into his throat, cutting off his breathing and whiting-out his vision for a few minutes.

And that wasn't the worse thing.

The worse thing was that now Derek would be able to feel everything.

Crowley had just pulled the blade out when a demon appeared behind him, a scruffy looking teenager. Crowley sighed and turned around. “ _What?_ ” he snapped.

The teenage demon kid just looked bored, which was a pretty admirable kind of insolence to your own king, if a little juvenile. “You know the new chick?” she drawled. “Yeah, she's gone.”

“I told her to wait,” Crowley muttered. “Where did she go?”

The demon shrugged, examining a strand of her hair. “I dunno, that tiny town in California, I think. She shoved me,” the girl sniffed disdainfully.

Stiles could feel the rage building up, and gave himself half a second before a look of pure anger drove Crowley to spin around and bury the angel blade in Stiles' chest, within an inch of his heart. Stiles let out a strangled, wounded scream, terror climbing up his walls and joinging with the abstract pain of Derek, his fear and his horror.

Crowley took a few deep, soothing breaths. He pulled the knife out of Stiles' chest and wiped it absently on his apron. “Sorry about that.”

Stiles was trying to catch a breath, but his wounds weren't healing. His wings were cramping and his Grace weakening. He wouldn't last as long as the other Guardian. He wouldn't last another day.

“Crowley,” Stiles croaked out, using all of his strength to lift his head and meet the demon king's eyes, “I'll be back.”

Because while Crowley had been lost in one of his infamous rages, the demon had winked at Stiles, and scrubbed off one of the sigils on the ground. The one that bound his powers.

So Crowley could only watch as Stiles snapped his wings out, and amplified his Grace. He knew what the demon would see: Stiles' body shining brighter, until his Grace burned it up, imploding like a nebula and only leaving destruction in his wake.

* * *

Derek collapsed.

The angels were missing, Stiles had been taken, and Derek had spent the last two days reading over everything he could find, or on the phone with Deaton. Scott could practically smell the exhaustion pouring off him, so he wouldn't have been surprised about him collapsing if his scent wasn't mingled with the acrid stench of pain. It was so concentrated that he must have been in _agony_.

Scott started towards him, but Isaac got there first, crouching over his body and slapping his face. After a few seconds, Derek jerked awake with a roar, his eyes blue and his fangs out. Isaac fell back and narrowly avoided a swipe of claws.

“Derek,” Scott called out, keeping a safe distance away from the near-feral wolf. “Get a grip.”

Derek growled, low in his throat, as his eyes faded back to green and his fangs shrunk. His whole body was tense and coiled, and every few seconds he would twitch or wince.

“What is it?” Isaac asked, taking a tentative step forward.

“Stiles,” Derek gritted out. “I can feel him.”

Scott shouldn't been relieved, but he saw the look of horror on Isaac's face and knew it mirrored his own. If Derek would feel Stiles, and he was in that much pain...

Derek choked, a horrible, rasping noise, clutching at his throat, his eyes wide and panicked.

Scott almost didn't notice the smell until it was thick and heavy in the air. Sulfur. He groaned and stood in front of Derek, who had dropped to his knees.

“Huh,” Kate mused, sauntering in the loft and running her hands along the edge of the wall before coming to a stop in front of Scott and Isaac. “I'm guessing your angel isn't doing to well, Derek.” Her face bore the look of fake-sympathy that made Scott want to punch it. “I watched Crowley for a while. I'm a sucker for voyeurism.” She winked at Isaac, who growled in retaliation.

“Anyway, he's not going to last very long, such a shame. If it were me, I'd take my sweet time. He's pretty cute. But Crowley's the boss.” She pulled a face, and then clapped her hands together. “Right. I just couldn't wait to get a piece of your new pack, Derek. I've heard of an Alpha pack before, but an omega pack? Kinda pathetic.”

Scott snarled at her and unsheathed his claws. Derek was panting behind him, catching his breath over the pain.

Kate just laughed, and it was a beautiful sound, really. But the sinister twist of her mouth and the evil glint in her eye coloured Scott's bias. He couldn't think of her as beautiful, not someone as evil as her, not even if she was human.

Isaac broke before Scott, charging towards Kate like a bull to a red flag, and next thing Scott knew, Isaacc was flung across the room by some invisible force, and Kate was holding her arm out with a smirk

“Don't think your angels will help you. Crowley sent them on a wild goose chase across the world.”

Isaac stood up and spat out some blood from where his face had slammed into a table, and Scott itched to help him, but Derek wasn't up for fighting, and Kate was here for _him_.

Kate tilted her head at Scott. “Scott. Step aside.”

“No,” Scott told her, meeting her black-eyed stare with a challenging glare of his own. “I won't let you hurt him.”

Kate lifted her arm and clenched it into a fist, and Scott's insides scrunched up. They felt like they were being processed through a meat grinder, and it was second only to the pain Scott felt when he'd been shot thirty times with wolfsbane bullets. It was close, though, very close.

“Scott,” Derek choked out with a raw voice, dropping to his knees next to him (when did he lie down?) and grabbing at his shoulders. Derek looked up at Kate. “Leave them alone, Kate.”

Isaac roared, his eyes flashing gold as he ran at Kate, dodging her kick and swiping at her side. The claws connected and she gasped out, clutching her side even as she ducked another swipe for her neck. Scott struggled to stand, his blood screaming as the pain flareed up, burning through him. Derek stood up and stumbled towards Kate, and that was all Scott remembered.

A sweet, low whispering had made its way through the air, but no one else seemed to hear it. It reached Scott's ears, and he strained to make out the words.

And once he understood, he opened his mouth to let out a weak, “Yes.”

* * *

Celestiel took hold of Scott McCall's body for the second time in the boy's short life.

The demon's influence wavered before fading away as he stood up, saying slightly in the unfamiliar body. He blinked the whiteness from his eyes and focused on the scene around him.

Isaac was pushing Derek behind him even as Kate sliced at his chest with a knife. It was a futile effort, since Derek seemed to be doing the same thing, but it made their fighting unpredictable as they switched their attention between defending each other and getting another hit in.

Kate was stronger, and faster, and more cunning.

“Close your eyes,” Stiles called out weakly, Scott's voice rough and alien to use. He cleared his throat and took a step forward. “Close your eyes!”

Stiles was amaze at how much Derek and Isaac trusted Scott, because they turned their heads immediately, shielding their eyes with their forearms.

Stiles held a hand out to Kate, who was smirking at him, even as recognition dawned on her face and her eyes widened. His Grace lit up, concentrated in Scott's palm, lighting up the room.

A second later, after the resonation of Kate's inhuman screams had faded, Stiles lowered his hand, his vision clearing to find Derek and Isaac, looking cut up and weary, but alert and cautious as they stared at him in confusion.

“Scott?” Isaac took a step towards him.

Stiles stumbled forward, feeling the bubbling wolf and primal instinct underneath, struggling to hold it back. “H-Hey, uh...” He frowned at the floor, lost as to what he was going to say.

“Scott? Focus on your anchor,” Derek urged in a weak voice, swaying on his feet.

Stiles looked up at him and gave him a weak grin. “Don't have one,” he told him. “Last time... Last time... he was human. This is... um, is weird.” His head was spinning. It was disorientating.

“ _Stiles?_ ”

“You know,” Stiles mumbled, “I like that name better. Celestiel is great, but... Stiles is simple. Nice. I have _style_.”

“He's delirious,” Isaac commented, coming to his side and steadying him by grabbing his elbow. “Stiles, what happened to you?”

Stiles opened his eyes. He closed them? He didn't remember. They weren't _his_ eyes. They were Scott's. He was borrowing them.

“Uh, it died. My body.” Stiles narrowed his eyes. “But I'll make it again. I jus... jus' need sleep.”

Derek was there. Derek was always there. Stiles wasn't always there for Derek but Derek was always there for Stiles.

“Stiles.”

Stiles frowned. “Your voice is wrong. It's sad. Don't... I'm... no. Don't be sad. Why am I... my head?”

Derek choked out a laugh, his eyes shining, his face bearing the tell-tale signs of torture. Because he went through torture. Like Stiles. “You'll be fine.” His tone was wonderous. “You're here.”

Stiles leaned heavily against Isaac as he lead him to the sofa. His head was getting clearer, and everything was making sense now. “Yeah. I'm here. I didn't mean to leave again.”

Isaac eased him on his back on the sofa. “Shut up,” he ordered. “You're going to get some sleep, wake up all healed, and get back into that body of yours.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles slurred, already half-asleep.

* * *

When he woke up, it occurred to Stiles that he had never actually slept before. It was a foreign sensation, waking up feeling achy and muffled, with blurry vision and a confused mind. He didn't know what all the hype was about dreaming. He didn't dream, which was a disappointment.

His Grace had healed completely, buzzing with anticipation to be used. He could feel Scott, patiently waiting inside his own mind, slightly panicking at the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own body. Stiles let himself feel guilty. It was the reason he didn't want to possess his vessels. One of them, anyway.

Derek was fast asleep in one armchair, Isaac in the other. Jackson was leaning againt a column, flipping through a book and yawning.

“Hey,” Stiles greeted in Scott's voice. “Jackson.”

Jackson looked up and narrowed his eyes, which Stiles had come to realise was like the Jackson-equivalent of one of Scott's grins. “Stiles? Yeah, Derek said you're in there. Weird.”

Stiles nodded his head and sat up, feeling refreshed and itching to get out of Scott's body.

“I was on watch. We weren't sure if Crowley is still looking for you.”

“No, he shouldn't be.” Stiles was certain the king wasn't dead, but Crowley would've gotten the message to back off. He wouldn't be able to pull the same tricks twice. “Where are the others?”

Jackson shrugged. “Haven't seen them since Kate took you. Nice smiting by the way. Wish I'd seen it.”

Stiles frowned. “Why didn't you pray for them?”

Jackson raised his eyebrows. “You can do that?”

Stiles stood up and walked towards the kitchen, Jackson following him. “Only in emergencies. So I think the situation calls for it, don't you?”

Jackson crossed his arms and watched as Stiles sat at the table. “I'm not praying to anyone.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “You are such a child.” He didn't need to pray anyway. Angels had a telepathic ability that had no limitations when it came to distance.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling out for his garrison, ignoring the pull of nearby angels, mainly Guardians like himself. Eieal and Balthioul were in Africa, and Asariel in France. Lydia and Jeduthan were searching Manhatten, but as soon as they all felt his presence in their minds, he felt them return.

A split second later, the kitchen was full of angels.

Angels weren't tactile at all, so Stiles' garrison stood side-by-side, bright smiles covering their faces and relieved exclamations of the obvious: “You're here!” or “You're alive!”, but didn't move too close to him.

“You self-sacrificing _idiot_ ,” Lydia growled, and Stiles, for the first time in his whole existence, was being hugged by Lydia. The angel who had stubbornly resisted humanity's influence, staying cold and formal. She hugged him, depsite her discomfit with physical contact.

Stiles hugged her back, in Scott's body, his arms going around her shoulders and squeezing reassuringly before letting go. “It's not a sacrifice if I didn't die.”

Lydia glared at him. “You sacrificed your vessel. The one you made.”

Stiles grimaced. “Yeah. I have to make a new one.”

Allison eyed Stiles, looking him up and down. “What will it look like this time?”

Stiles shrugged. “Might keep it the same. Humans have rubbed their sentimentality off on me.” He made a face. “It's like an infection.”

Jackson huffed and eyed Stiles. “You'd better make your vessel body thing soon. I want Scott back.”

 _Aw, that's sweet, he misses me. Tease him for me,_ Scott spoke up.

Stiles grinned. “You missing your friend, Whittemore? Are you _pining_?” Allison muffled a giggle and Boyd looked faintly amused.

Jackson glowered at him. “I don't like this,” he stated rather uselessly. “Everyone thinks you're the coolest, Stiles, but I know what you really are.”

“What's that?”

“Pure evil.” But Jackson negated the description of Stiles by grinning, and then they were all smiling, and it was weird and too comfortable and so very _human_ that Stiles frowned, just for a little normalcy.

Stiles braced his hands on the table and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. And he opened his mouth mouth, pushing himself out of Scott's mind. The last thing he remembered was Allison's arms holding Scott's limp body up, and then he was floating up, around, searching his memory and flexing his Grace.

* * *

When Derek woke up, Stiles was nose-to-nose with him. Derek flinched, but Stiles deftly avoided getting hit by Derek's forehead and laughed.

Derek sat up immediately, aware of the echo of pain from Stiles' torture, aware of the emptiness left from Stiles' intangible presence.

Stiles was still grinning as he held out a hand for Derek to grab, pulling him up with no effort. “How are you feeling?”

Derek traced Stiles' face with his eyes. His moles, his upturned nose, his eyes. Everything was the same as before. “You're back.”

“Yeah, I'm still weak from creating this,” he replied, gesturing to his body. “But I'm fine.”

Derek blinked and narrowed his eyes at the wings that were tucked into Stiles' back, a small trail of feathers behind him. “You're losing feathers.”

Stiles twisted and looked back. “Oh. That's nothing. Happens all the time. You didn't answer my question.” Stiles large hands were on Derek's shoulders and he was leaning down a bit to meet Derek's eyes, searching them for something. He was taller than Derek now, so he hadn't been as exact as he must've thought he was in recreating himself.

“I'm fine,” Derek started. He opened his mouth to say more, maybe ask Stiles how he got free, when Stiles moved his hands down to straighten Derek's shirt, his wings folding back into his body until the only trace of their existence were the feathers littering the ground.

“Good. I was waiting for you to wake up, could've slept a bit faster,” he muttered, flashing Derek a tiny grin. “You have to eat something, and shower,” he wrinkled his nose, “and then we're going to have a talk about researching yourself to death.”

Derek did all of that, Stiles shoving toast and coffee in his face and watching him eat until he raised his eyebrows at the angel. Stiles put on that confused, sheepish look that the angels got whenever they found themselve doing something socially unacceptable or uncomfortable for humans. Derek lost count on how many times he'd talked to Stiles about personal space.

Once Derek had showered and put on clothing that didn't have blood all over it, Stiles was sitting on the sofa, a coffee in his hands, staring at the ground in deep thought. Derek almost didn't want to disturb him, but he thought Stiles was _gone_ , and he wanted answers.

“How did you get away?”

Stiles looked up at him and made room on the sofa. “A demon helped me escape.”

“A demon.”

“Yes.”

“Helped you escape?”

Stiles nodded, looking disturbed. “I don't know who sent it, or why. I'm guessing it was Castiel, though, but he isn't answering my prayers.”

Derek swallowed and winced. His throat was still tender, even though the injury had never occurred. Not for him.

Stiles saw his hand press lightly against his neck and moved closer to touch two fingers to it. The pain faded, as though he were siphoning it away, and Derek half-expected black veins to travel up Stiles arms.

“I'm sorry about that,” Stiles told him, his hand still curled around Derek's neck, his eyes guilty and earnest. “Crowley-”

“You don't have to talk about it,” Derek interrupted softly.

Stiles gave him a small smile. “There's nothing to say. He knew which pressure points would hurt me the most, and he found our bond and exploited it. And then the demon freed me, and I burned my body up.”

“Why?” Derek asked, his heart beating faster as Stiles' thumb moved in light circles over his skin.

“My body is made from my Grace. Crowley injured it too much, I wouldn' have lasted much longer. A day at most. So I let my Grace consume it and possessed Scott until it had healed up.”

Derek reached out, fingers tracing Stiles' moles. It felt familiar, touching him like this. Like something was easing in his chest, like it was natural. Like the constant tension between them was just anticipation of contact.

Stiles closed his eyes and sighed as Derek's fingers trailed over his cheekbone. His whole body was composed of his Grace, of everything that made him beautiful and angelic. The skin under Derek's fingers was heavenly, pure, and it couldn't be anything else.

Stiles eyes opened and the burning amber in them was so clear, full of understanding. “Derek...” he breathed, like a warning and a plea.

“I want to kiss you,” Derek told him, his voice sounding young and shaky. “Can I?”

Stiles nodded. “I... No objections to that.” And then the angel surged forward and his lips were moving against Derek's.

Derek jerked back as something akin to an electric shock zapped through him.

Stiles' eyes were wide and he let out an awkward laugh. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks an embarrassed pink. “That was me. I got excited.” Which was so _Stiles,_ bumbling around humanity and getting carried away by it.

Derek pressed his lips together to chase away the buzzing and kissed Stiles again, this time the only sensation being their lips sliding together. Stiles' hand drifted into his hair and tugged him closer, and Derek teased open his lips with his tongue.

It was sweet and slow and deep and surprisingly normal for kissing your Guardian angel, and it was a full minute before Stiles broke away, his hair mussed and his eyes panicked, though he was trying not to show it.

“What's wrong?” Derek asked, wondering, for a sick moment, if he'd gone too far, if he'd made a mistake. If Stiles didn't think of him like that, or if he thought himself above consorting with humans (Derek wouldn't blame him if he did, because it was true).

But Stiles shook his head and stroked Derek's cheek softly. “Nothing,” he reassured, giving Derek a small smile.

Derek frowned and pulled away from Stiles' hand. “Stiles, tell me. Please.”

Stiles leaned back, watching Derek for a few moments. He sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “Only because you're using those puppy-dog eyes like a weapon.”

There was a moment of silence, while Stiles gathered his words. Whatever he was going to tell Derek, by the look in his face it was important.

“Angels fall in love with humans all the time, it's common. But we're forbidden to act on it. And, two thousand years ago, I fell in love with a human. She was fun, and beautiful. Would never back down from a fight. We had a child. Broke one of the oldest laws of our kind. The child of an angel and a human is called Nephilim, but angels call them abominations. Our child... he was the greatest thing I had ever created. He was smart and kind, didn't have a cruel bone in his body.

“They found us when he was five, and didn't let him live a day older. They slaughtered him in front of me, and wiped my... her memory. She forgot about me, about our child. And she married a man named Jacob. They made her bloodline the bloodline of my vessels, and imprisoned me. Tortured me for years, for millennia. Until they decided they'd make me your Guardian.

“The woman was named Rachel. When she died, they made her an angel, like another kick when I was down. She remembered everthing then. She... She remembers everything, but she doesn't love me. Not anymore, not as an angel.

“In Heaven, I'm infamous. People view me as weak, rebellious, controlled by emotion. The angels cut into my mind over and over, between the torture, trying to find my 'reset' button,” he said bitterly, his voice cracking. “They could stab a thousand needles into my Grace and their search would be redundant. I don't have one. But they continued, maybe just for the fun of it.

“Then they made me your Guardian, and the rest... you know the rest.”

When Stiles finally met Derek's eyes, they were clear and angry, full of the hurt he had suffered his whole life, and strength that was inspiring.

Derek knew that anyone else, any other angel, would've broken, would be a shell of what they were, would've gone crazy. And yet here was Stiles, the angel who wouldn't possess his vessel out of consideration for Scott's life, who played video games with Isaac and put up with Jackson's moods. Who returned to Derek when he could've gone anywhere else, and lead a garrison with resolve and skill to fight for his brother's cause.

“That's why Crowley wants me. He believes he can find out why I'm different. If he gets into my head, he can access secrets that have been kept since the dawn of time, secrets that I know and secrets that I've forgotten.”

Derek didn't know what to say. What do you do, how do you comfort the one person who had been comforting you your whole life? Someone who had experienced the worst kind of agony and torture and loss, who had been through more than Derek could imagine?

“What was his name?” Derek asked him, for want of something better to say.

The whole time Stiles had been talking, his voice was steel and his eyes were dry. But now, it looked like he was holding back tears, and Derek had to wonder how many people, how many angels, had ever bothered to ask this question, to ask him about his life and his family, his son.

“Manasseh,” Stiles replied, and there was a sad smile on his face. He didn't give Derek any time to reply, which Derek was kind of grateful for, because he didn't have nearly enough life experience to comfort Stiles, and his whole family had burned to death. “Cas is coming.”

Derek never really liked Castiel that much. He was too bossy and had no qualms about using his brother as bait. But, looking at the smile of Stiles' face when Cas appeared in front of them, Derek thought that at least Stiles had that. A brother, who had given him a cause to fight for and a garrison to care for, and the opportunity to find Derek again.

“Celestiel,” Cas greeted with a dip of the head. “Derek.” His eyes narrowed in on where Derek held one of Stiles' large hands within his own, and Derek was suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. He looked up at Stiles, but Stiles didn't notice, or care. He only pulled his hand away to push himself to his feet, and then he pulled Derek up with him.

“Cas. I take it that demon was yours?”

Cas lifted his chin. “The Winchesters scare demons more than their king. Who shouldn't be bothering you anymore.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “I doubt Crowley is the kind of demon to just let things go.”

“I've made a deal with him. He stops torturing angels, and I tell him how to open the doors of Purgatory.”

Stiles shook his head, stepping forward, into Cas' personal space. “You're an idiot.”

Cas looked baffled at the insult, so Derek guessed insults were more of a human thing. “Excuse me?”

“You made a _deal_. With a _demon_. The king of Hell, like that makes it any better!” Stiles exclaimed, getting worked up. If it were anyone else, Derek would step in and try and calm him down, but even with his lack of knowledge on theology, he could tell that Cas kind of needed the telling off. “Who knows what he would do with Purgatory?”

“I vote we kill him,” Derek cut in seriously. “He tortured Stiles. We should kill him.”

Stiles jabbed a finger at Derek triuphantly and then looked back at Cas. “I second that. He's a nuisance.”

Cas sighed and turned away from them with an almost mournful look. “He has his owns reasons for not wanting to unleash monsters on the world, Celestiel. I know what I'm doing.”

Stiles sighed, weary and defeated. “Fine. You know I have your back if things go to hell, literally.”

Cas turned back, looking slightly guilty. “The reason I came here... I need you to call the garrison here.”

Stiles' face went blank, and he nodded, going quiet between the silent conversation with Cas.

“What is it?” Derek asked, feeling the dread settle in his stomach.

The answer was what he had expected and feared. “I need you all to come back home with me,” Castiel replied, looking at Stiles.

* * *

Stiles wasn't going. He told his brother he'd have his back if things go to Hell, sure, but not if it goes to Heaven.

And by the looks on everyone else's faces, they weren't as keen as they should've been on the idea either.

“I've disbanded the factions that were the greatest threat of letting Michael and Lucifer out of the cage,” Castiel started once everyone had showed up.

“So what do you need us for?” Allison challenged, looking every bit the teenage girl she had possessed.

Stiles knew his brother, and he recognized when he got weary of explaining things. “You want us to police the rogue angels, clean up Heaven with you.”

Cas met his eyes and nodded. “I need the help. Everyone is – mistakenly – assuming I want to manage Heaven myself. I... I don't want that. I just want everything to go back to the way it was before Lucifer was freed.”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “No freewill, no emotions, no questions?”

“He means 'peaceful', dumbass,” Lydia muttered. Everyone turned to stare at her and she looked up at them, frowning. “What?”

Cas shook his head. “I need your help. I... I'm _asking_ for your help.”

“Hallelujah,” Stiles mumbled. “He _asks_.”

“I will help you,” Erica chirped, stepping forward. “Heaven's prettier than Earth anyway.”

Castiel traded a grateful look with her, and turned to the rest of them. His expression was close to desperation, and Stiles had to wonder how many angels he had lost in the war, that he had to ask them, that he was counting on them.

Jordan was next, his eyes clear and full of certainty, and it didn't surprise Stiles. He was the quietest, too gentle for a human life, though how that made him suitable for an angel's life, Stiles had no idea.

Everyone looked at Lydia, and she stared back at them with steel in her eyes for a long moment. When her gaze met Stiles', she looked down briefly, almost guiltily. “I'll help you.”

“I'm staying,” Allison said. She met Stiles' gaze defiantly, before meeting Scott's. Stiles rolled his eyes as a large smile took over Scott's face, and Allison's eyes softened.

Boyd cleared his throat, looking kind of uncomfortable to have to speak. “I have things to do,” Boyd said, meeting Stiles' eyes, “but once my ward has lived her life, I will help you, Castiel.”

Stiles was kind of getting caught up in the moment, so he didn't notice everyone looking at him expectantly until Lydia barked out a, “Celestiel!”

“What?” Stiles squeaked, jumping because Lydia had said it _right in his ear_ and he hated people sneaking up on him. “Oh. The, uh, yeah.”

Stiles wanted to look at Derek, to find reassurance in his eyes, because he wanted to stay, he really did. But while they had kissed, and it was _amazing_ (maybe because he hadn't been kissed since he was imprisoned thousands of years ago, but he'll give Derek's kissing skills the benefit of the doubt), but they hadn't discussed anything. Humans were weird when it came to relationships and emotions and urges. It could've been because Stiles had been missing for two days, or a lasting effect of the bond that Crowley had opened between them.

So yes, Stiles wanted to look into Derek's eyes and find reassurance that he could stay, that he had a home here. But Derek was looking at the floor, avoiding Stiles' gaze, his face unreadable and his posture defensive.

Stiles looked up at Castiel. “I would never go back there, Cas. The angels made it pretty clear just how much I was welcome when they shunned me.”

“You can change that, Celestiel,” Castiel urged, though his eyes were sad as if he had sensed that Stiles had already made his mind up. “You can help me show them a better way.”

Stiles looked back at Derek, who raised his eyes to meet Stiles, a question in them, and hope. “Heaven is not my home. Not anymore.”

Cas nodded, resigned. “I'll be in touch.” And then he vanished.

Allison bounded over to Scott and hugged him, burying her face in his neck while he tried to be subtle about sniffing her. Everyone in the room looked away, at Stiles again.

Lydia stepped towards him. “You're a good leader, Celestiel.”

Stiles grinned at her. “Stop flattering me, Lydia, you're making me swoon.”

Lydia rolled her eyes and held out a hand. Stiles shook it and dampened the urge to hug her, because she would most likely punch him.

“Pray for me if you need help,” he told her. “If you need someone to give Cas an ass-kicking.”

Lydia wrinkled her nose at the term, but nodded, and walked up to Allison, who was standing close to Scott, their sides pressed together.

Erica lept into Stiles' arms and he caught her with a surprised laugh, which turned into a groan as she squeezed him tightly, almost crushing his ribs. “I'll miss you,” she murmured in his ear.

“I'll miss you too, Eiael. Rough that place up a little, for me.”

Erica pulled away and kissed him on the cheek, before nodding to Allison and disappearing.

Jordan held out his hand and Stiles shook it, giving the angel a small smile. Stiles had never connected with the guy but he admired his persistence and his honour, especially on the battlefield.

“You were a good commander, Stiles,” Jordan said. It was the first time he'd called Stiles by his nickname, his human name. “When you come back, we'll all be waiting.”

“Thank you,” Stiles replied quietly. And then Jordan left.

Boyd met his eyes and flew off to wherever Cora was hiding. He was the only angel that hadn't spent time around the wolves, or not as much. He spent most of the past week talking with her, trying to convince her to come home, and from what he had told Stiles, the progress was slow.

“What do we do now?” Allison asked him, stepping away from Scott. “How... How do we live a human life?”

Stiles rubbed at the back of his neck. “It's been a while, for me. I'm kind of lost on the subject.”

“You can stay here,” Isaac blurted. “I... I mean, it's not like Derek would mind, right?” Isaac glanced at Derek, who had raised his eyebrows at him.

“We understand if you do not wish to share your home with us,” Allison said gently. “I was talking about jobs.”

Stiles clapped his hands together. “Come on, guys. I just got back from two days of torture, I don't really want to talk about careers and everything.”

Jackson shook his head. “You both look like high-schoolers anyway.”

Stiles looked down at his body. “Is that... bad?”

“No,” Scott replied, smiling at Allison like a pleased puppy, all dimples and soft eyes. _Ugh_.

Jackson sighed and walked towards the door. “Call me when the next supernatural disaster rolls into town.” He slammed the loft door behind him.

Isaac grinned. “That's how he says 'I love you'.”

Stiles caught Derek looking at him, with a tiny frown as if he was confused. Like Stiles needed figuring out. “Derek?”

“What are we?” Derek blurted out. He winced, as if it wasn't what he had wanted to say.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, narrowing his eyes at him. “I'm your Guardian, you're my ward.” Stiles was pretty sure they had established this. Many times. Maybe Derek had acquired brain damage from Stiles' torture.

Derek sighed. “I meant – that's not what I meant.” He looked like he was struggling with the words. It was cute, the way his brow furrowed and his lips thinned in frustration. “You – you're an angel.” Stiles felt like they were just going in circles now. “I'm a human.” _Is this some sort of game in stating the obvious? Why can't he just get to the point?_ “And you... We kissed, so-”

“Good God, I refuse to be the fifth wheel,” Isaac muttered, walking out of the door. Scott started after him, before looking back at where Allison was still watching Stiles and Derek. “ _Allison_ ,” he hissed.

Allison looked up at him. “What?”

Scott raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the door. “This is when we give them privacy to work things out,” he said slowly, glancing at Derek as if the words were intended for him.

“ _Oh_ ,” Allison replied, grabbing his outstretched hand and letting herself get pulled from the room. She shrugged her shoulders at Stiles, which made it clear that she was just humouring Scott, and that she didn't see the point in leaving.

Once the door had shut again, Stiles met Derek's eyes. “What are you trying to say here, Derek?”

Derek looked like a cornered animal, his eyes darting anywhere but Stiles' face. “I just... Why? Why did you kiss me?”

Stiles frowned at him, because humans could be really dense sometimes. Most of the time. It had taken about a year for Rachel to understand that his intentions weren't exactly platonic, but maybe that was because the human men of her time period wooed without finesse, paying the woman's father off with goats or slaves instead of talking to her. Stiles doubted that it would've worked in this case, even if Derek's father was alive. Maybe kissing Derek was too subtle?

“Because I love you.”

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, because Derek's face closed off immediately, like it had when Stiles had told him that he was Derek's Guardian.

“No you don't,” Derek replied, his voice guarded and gruff.

“Yes, I do,” Stiles said slowly. He was missing something, wasn't he?

“You can't,” Derek said fiercely. “You _can't_ love me because you don't _know_ me!” And he sounded heartbroken, like it pained him to say it.

Stiles took a tentative step forward. “Derek, I've watched you your whole life.”

Derek stepped forward now, anger buzzing from him but not directed at Stiles. “No, you've watched me for sixteen years! And I'm not sixteen anymore.”

“I know that,” Stiles replied, irritated because this was getting ridiculous, Derek had to get to the point.

Derek shook his head. “Those... Those six years you weren't here... I've changed and I've done some bad things, Stiles. Things you don't know about.”

Stiles didn't want to force it out of Derek, not when he was having so much trouble trying to say what he meant. “Is this about Kate?”

Derek's eyes widened in something between shock and horror. “You _knew_?”

Stiles rubbed a hand down his face, a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. “I suspected,” he said. He took another step closer. “Derek, Kate had nothing to do with you. All of that was on _her_ , and it's over now. I am thousands of years old, Derek. Trust me when I say this was not your fault, because I know where the blame lies, and it's not with you. I... I''m sorry I wasn't there.” Something must've gone wrong when Stiles reconstructed this body, because his voice kept cracking and his throat was closing up. “I _should've_ been there.” But he shook off the guilt, because this was about Derek, he needed to focus on Derek, not himself.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“I don't know,” Stiles admitted honestly. “But I hate... You went through it alone, and you weren't meant to. If it means anything, I'm here now. And I _do_ love you, I don't know why you think I don't.”

Derek's breath caught in his throat and his mouth was open slightly in surprise and _oh_. Stiles forgot that declarations of love were special, that they were professed over a candle-lit table or something. Derek's parents just said it so casually to each other, and their kids, like it hadn't even crossed their mind that it was anything other than natural, to love each other. And that's how Stiles loved Derek, naturally, the boy who had learnt about betrayal the hard way and has paid for it ever since. All Stiles knew was that he never wanted Derek to feel that kind of loss again, even if fate itself stood in their way, because he was pretty sure Cas had tore apart the rule book on that anyway.

And then Derek was hugging him, fiercely, his arms around Stiles' waist and his face buried in the crook of his neck.

“I love you too,” he mumbled, “and God knows I shouldn't. I've only known you for a week, Stiles, but I feel like I've known you my whole life and I _have_.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh and hugged him back. “ _Finally_.”

The loft door slid open. “Hey guys, I just forgot my – _and_ you're kissing. I'm just going to, uh, go...” The door slid shut again and Stiles could hear Isaac's muttering from behind it, but he ignored it in favour of tasting Derek's lips on his own, Derek's hands pulling him closer, the space between them little more than submicroscopic electrons, their breath shared in little gasps.

Derek deepened the kiss and Stiles couldn't stop the way his wings snapped out of his body and through his clothes. Derek broke away and peered over Stiles' shoulder, and then they were both laughing, Stiles leaning his forehead on Derek's shoulder. “Oh my God,” he mumbled, embarrassed. Yeah, it had been a while.

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Don't take the Lord's name in vain.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

 

You taught me the courage of stars before you left.  
How light carries on endlessly, even after death.  
With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite.  
How rare and beautiful it is to even exist.

-Saturn, Sleeping At Last

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this too much fluff? I feel like it was but I don't know, it kinda works. And Cora coming back I feel would've been too much crammed into one chapter.  
> I used Rachel as the past love interest thingy because dude, my name is Rachel, kinda really the only reason. But I swear, I'm not as mean as she was on the show.  
> Thank you for sticking by me with this, even though it was a pretty short ride. If you have any questions, ask them, because I will have the answer (I'm omniscient).

**Author's Note:**

> Dudes. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Stay tuned for Castiel, feelings, a little more of Stiles' tragic past. In the third chapter. But still. Maybe bring tissues?  
> Here's a [tumblr,](http://unadulterated-exasperation.tumblr.com/) my tumblr. I'll just leave this here.


End file.
